


The Loss after the Bombs

by Chartjexx



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bombardement of Rotterdam, Gen, History, I'm Bad At Tagging, Light Angst, Loss of Parent(s), My First AO3 Post, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:08:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chartjexx/pseuds/Chartjexx
Summary: The story of a youngman named Tony and his experience with the Bombardement of Rotterdam, the beginning of the WOII in the Netherlands.





	The Loss after the Bombs

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is my first story and i have never posted something before or let others read my work but i felt like posting it, otherwise i wouldn't use it anymore and let it go to waste.
> 
> the name Tony is mentioned only once I know but i wanted to feature it as it is my own name. 
> 
> it probably isn't even good and nobody will read it but I hope that if you like it you will leave a comment or Kudos!
> 
> x Tony

My name is Tony, I am here to tell you about one of the worst days of my life, the Bombing of Rotterdam. It was a day in which I lost so much, in which I knew change was coming, just like other victims. It all started on the 10th of May, the day which is known today as the day the Second World War started in the Netherlands.

I was 16 at the time, lived with my parents and sister. The 10th of May started like any other day, I woke up, ate whatever I could find in the pantry and kitchen, which wasn’t a lot, but it’ll do, I guessed the money wasn’t a lot at the moment. I didn’t go to school anymore, besides, my father needed my help too much to go to school, and I knew most of it already, I was quite curious and always read my parents old schoolbooks. So, I went to work. My father owned his own butchery, I always hated it. 

While I was busy with cleaning the working bench later that day, I overheard a conversation between two men. They were talking about bombs and parachutes. My curiosity was thriving and I asked them:  
‘' what are you talking about?’'

One of the men looked at me like I was a 5 year old boy: ''German soldiers are attacking Rotterdam, boy, they say their leader Hitler wants to take over The Netherlands by attacking the big cities.’' 

It felt like my heart was in my throat: '‘ so…what’s happening now?’'

I didn’t fantasise about war and fighting like these men, I wasn’t someone to throw a punch at someone and clearly not strong enough to kill someone. The other man laughed and said: ‘'they are recruiting men to help set off the Germans for longer, there are supposed to be a lot of soldiers on their side, so you could help out.’'

I left work with my heart in my throat, thinking about what I had to do. I had heard stories about the Great War from my father, he had a few friends in America who had fought in the war, the pain and loss they had gone through and I couldn’t bear to go through that too, when I saw the excitement of some people I thought they were crazy. Who would ask for war or be exited for it? More people than should have, apparently.

During the next days there were a lot of tension in Rotterdam as it was surrounded by soldiers, constantly trying to break in, on the order of Hitler, who became impatient because it took so long. Hitler decided to threaten colonel Scharroo, that he would bomb Rotterdam if they didn’t surrender. 

At the time I only knew the tension, and how some people choose to live on like nothing happened and how some kept their family close, I choose the second, I didn’t know what I would do if I lost my family.

The first German bomb hit the city around 13.30, I was with my mother and sister, helping to prepare lunch, or simple sandwiches as we weren’t the fanciest of all, when we heard it and the alarm, we saw no other option than to go to the basement.

When another bomb stroke I felt the fear of everyone in the basement, I had my little sister in my arms, comforting her, or at least trying to. I’m afraid she noticed I was scared as well, and we all know that something bad is going on when even your big brother and ‘butcherer ’ father are terrified. The basement was old and too unsafe for a bomb shelter, it was mostly used for storage, but it would do, we guessed. It wasn’t like we had all the time to go to a better one as we heard the alarm and soon after the first bombs hitting the city. After a big blow not too far from our house, I felt my sister jump out of my grip. She ran to my mother and sat in between our parents, crying, afraid for what could or was going to happen. My mother caressed her hair, trying to comfort her like I tried doing. I was sitting on the other side of the room, against the wall. Nobody spoke, my throat was dry and I wished for some water, remembering the tap under the stairs. So what did I do? I asked if anyone else wanted some water, maybe to forget the bombs in the distance, there were some glasses, I knew they were there because my sister sometimes played in the basement, playing with old toys or reading old books, but it felt like it was prepared. So I grabbed a glass, it was old and dusty, and I washed it lightly and then…. 

A powerful clap hit the house, the clap forced me to hit the sink with my head, forcing me to go unconscious as my head started to bleed and my hair became wet from blood, the stairs above me collapsed and so did the rest of the house.

When I woke up I noticed I was covered in rocks and wood from the stairs, thank god that they weren’t large pieces that could’ve easily killed me. I was dizzy and had to focus to see the inevitable. 

I saw the most heart-breaking thing, my parents and sister were dead, covered in blood and rocks from the house, blood and skin, that was blasted off from the hit, everywhere. I didn’t believe what I saw. It took one bomb to take away my family and home. There were people trying to lift rubble of me when they saw I was alive, and my first reaction was to crawl to my family, not caring a damn about my own injuries.

I still checked if they were alive, tried to find a pulse with the trick my mother had taught me when I was 11. When I realized that they were dead, I felt my heart stop for a few seconds, I hoped a little that the same thing would happen again, boom, clap, life is over, but just for me. I didn’t want to have to deal with their deaths, I had to die with them, a glass of water and a dry throat had saved me from dying with my family. 

There I sat, in the rubble, next to a few corpses covered in my own blood, not knowing what to do but knowing two things for sure,

Number 1, I despise the Nazi’s for the bombs and reckoning of many families.  
Number 2, we are at war.


End file.
